


Scars

by tentitoo



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AUish, Aftermath of Torture, Gen, Nightmares, PTSD Sherlock, Post-Reichenbach, Scarred Sherlock, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 17:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4109278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tentitoo/pseuds/tentitoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock’s breathing eventually evened out meaning he had finally managed to fall asleep. John sighed and combed a few sweaty curls away from the detective’s forehead. The room was now completely silent apart from Sherlock’s even breathing.</p><p>His eyes fell down to Sherlock’s marred back. He could see the pink layered scars dimly lit by the moonlight coming through the window. John couldn’t help himself and began tracing the scars with his fingertips, his touch was light though as he was afraid he would hurt Sherlock and wake him.</p><p>I did it for you!</p><p>John’s heart ached as he remembered the detective’s words and his eyes started to sting from the tears he was refusing to shed. He felt frustrated, he wished he could have been there for him, to save him… Even though he knew he couldn’t.</p><p> </p><p>Post-Reichenbach AUish fic where Mary doesn't exist and John finds out about Sherlock's scars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sherlock's Scars](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/120694) by thetwelfthpanda. 



> As mentioned in the summary this is a post-Reichenbach fic slightly AUish as Mary doesn't exist. This story was based on a fanart by the amazing thetwelfthpanda (http://thetwelfthpanda.tumblr.com) on tumblr. You should totally check her out because you won't regret it!
> 
> This is my first Sherlock fic and English isn't my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes you might find! Hope you enjoy it :)

John exited the bathroom still towelling his hair dry. The familiar hum of the violin filled his ears announcing the awakening of the consulting detective and John couldn't help grinning at the familiar sound. It was one of the things he had missed the most.

He placed the towel on the back of a chair once in the kitchen and turned on the kettle to brew them some tea. Sherlock most likely hadn’t had anything to eat yet and tea was the only thing he managed to coax into him. Sometimes he managed to make him eat some toast too but it was a rare occurrence.

He leaned against the counter and watched Sherlock attentively as he waited for the water to boil. The consulting detective most likely got up and picked up his violin straight away as he was only wearing the bottoms of his pajamas and was barefoot. Sherlock was standing in is usual violin-playing spot near the desk with his eyes closed. He was obviously lost in thought and his back was facing the window.

John took in the image in front of him, the way the detective’s fingers moved quickly on the worn-out strings, the way his messy ebony curls framed his face, the way he hold himself managing somehow to still look regal despite the fact he was only wearing pajama bottoms… Jesus… The man was flawless.

Sherlock chose that exact moment of enlightenment to turn to the window and John’s breath hitched in his throat. All across the detective’s back were scars layered atop of each other. Some were almost fading while others were still pink and raw, some were very small while others were several inches long. John’s medical trained eyes couldn’t help but to catalogue all of them by size, shape and age.

“Sherlock…” he called as he slowly approached the man trying to keep his voice from faltering.

The consultant detective hummed in reply still lost in his thoughts but acknowledging his presence.

“What the hell happened to your back?” John asked carefully supressing the urge to trace all the marks in the detective’s back that were now at an arm length.

Sherlock’s eye shot open as he _truly_ acknowledged John’s presence. “John…” he breathed turning on the ball of his feet and dropping his arms to his side.

“What are you doing here? You were only supposed to move back in today,” the detective was genuinely confused.

“No…” he spoke slowly. “I moved back in yesterday as agreed but you were on a case and I was probably sound asleep when you came home last night.”

“Oh…”

“Where did you get those scars Sherlock?” he repeated.

The consulting detective set down his violin on the desk purposely avoiding the expectant gaze of his flatmate. He could swear he heard the kettle whistling on the background.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” he said finally looking at him in the eyes.

John took a deep breath obviously trying to keep his temper in order.

“Some of those scars aren’t even three weeks old… They had just been inflicted to you when you came back.”

Sherlock couldn’t help but be impressed with John’s improvement since they first started working together. Still he remained silent.

“Does that mean you let me tackle and beat you up while–? _Christ_ _Sherlock_!” the doctor’s voice hitched at the sudden realization. “You’re an absolute idiot!”

“Trust me John I’ve had worse…” he said waving his hand dismissively and walked past the doctor eagerly wanting to escape to his room and wait for John to leave for work.

John however knew him all too well and grabbed his wrist before he could escape. John wasn’t planning on dropping the subject just yet so with a jerk he pulled Sherlock back and grabbed both of his wrists holding him securely in front of him. Usually he complied with all Sherlock’s requests but not this time. He felt like he had the right to know.

Sherlock glared at him. He didn’t enjoy being patronized and he also liked to be left alone when asked.

“Tell me what happened,” the doctor insisted.

“I’ve already told you what I’ve been doing the past two years,” Sherlock’s eyes hardened.

“Well, yes… Okay, that’s true. You told me you’ve been dismantling Moriarty’s network,” John conceded still never easing the grip on Sherlock’s wrists. “And you also told me all about the snipers ready to kill me and having to pretend to die to save me, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade.”

“I’ve told you everything John.”

“Not everything. That was not what I asked you about…” John replied softly.

Sherlock scowled but he never stopped looking John in the eyes.

“Fine then, I’ll tell you.”

“Good,” John shot him a small smile.

“But you have to let go of me.”

John did as he was told and for a second he thought Sherlock would bolt to his bedroom and lock himself in but he didn’t. He sat on his leather chair and waited until John sat on his own chair.

For a few moments Sherlock just stood there with his eyes closed and in his thinking position. It took every ounce of patience in John’s body to keep himself from prompting an explanation from the detective.

“The Moriarty network was vast, far more than I had originally thought it would be. I had planned to return at least eight months sooner than I did and be gone only for a year but as it turned out I had an awful lot of work to do…” he began.

“Concerning the scars since it’s what you’re so keen on knowing about… I had to let myself get caught a couple of times on purpose. It’s funny how much people tell you when they think they have the upper hand,” Sherlock smirked at the stupidity of ‘ordinary’ people.

John’s eyes widened as he imagined Sherlock willingly letting himself be tortured in order to gain insight on how to destroy particular sides of the network.

“I managed to escape all those times with only a few bruises and scratches. However when I was close to finish the job I got caught and this time it wasn’t on purpose. I was tired and made a mistake, this side was cleverer than the others… They tortured me for days, honestly I lost count at one point.”

“Sherlock…” John began but the detective ignored him and proceeded.

“Mycroft was forced to ‘wade in’ as he likes to put it and get me out. Actually I managed to get myself out by deducing that my torturer’s wife was cheating on him with his neighbour and they usually did the deed whenever he was working and he bolted home. Mycroft had been watching me being beaten to a pulp for hours and only then he actually tried to get us out of that hellhole, the insufferable git…”

When Sherlock finished he noticed John was frowning.

“I could have helped you…” he said.

“No, you couldn’t,” Sherlock replied blatantly.

“I was a soldier Sherlock, I know that isn’t our usual gig but I could have been useful.”

“You still don’t get it, do you John?” Sherlock’s eyes were hard again.

“What’s there to get?” John replied getting frustrated. “Please explain me Sherlock because I really don’t understand why you had to pretend being dead for two whole years when I could have helped you!”

“I did this for _you_!” the detective shouted and got up too restless to be sitting down.

“Moriarty had men ready to kill you and there were only two ways of stopping that from happening. Either I killed myself or Moriarty cancelled the hit. Since he shot himself there was only one option really…” Sherlock explained as he paced around the living room.

“But you said Mycroft’s men had everything under control.”

“Well they didn’t because as I said previously it was a vast network and they all had orders to kill you. What do you think would happen if they found out I wasn’t really dead?” he questioned and stopped to look at John apparently waiting for an answer.

John didn’t reply right away as he was still trying to fit all the pieces of information together and draw a conclusion out of them.

“A shitload of highly trained murderers would try to finish the job…” he finally said as he understood and his heart sunk to his stomach with guilt and found a permanent location there for the main time.

“I had to dismantle the network to make sure you were safe once and for all when I came back from the dead.”

John stared at him for a few moments his mouth slightly agape unsure of what he should say until he finally went with a hoarse ‘thank you’.

He coughed to clear his throat.

“Thank you Sherlock,” he repeated.

Sherlock frowned and shrugged going back to the table and picking up his violin. He placed it on his shoulder and chin and faced the window ready to return to his thoughts.

John wished they could talk this further but he knew when it was best to leave Sherlock alone and now was one of this moments. He watched the muscles in the detective’s scarred back move as he played. The image was so familiar and yet it was completely different now.

John watched Sherlock transfixed until he looked at his watch, realized how late he was for work and had to leave in a rush.

* * *

When John returned from the surgery the flat was silent. It had been a complicated work day, there had been an outbreak of the flu so the surgery had been packed with people with runny noses and there had also been a lot of vomiting. He just wanted to grab something to eat and get his well-deserved rest.

Trying to ignore the severed foot on the bottom shelf of the fridge John grabbed an instant noodle cup he had bought at Tesco when he went grocery shopping the previous day and made sure he disinfected the microwave before using it to heat the cup. Funny how old habits came back to him without him even noticing it.

John sat on the sofa and turned on the telly while he ate and assuming Sherlock had gone on a case to avoid talking to him. During the day John had thought a lot about what had happened. He yearned to touch Sherlock’s scars and tell him everything was okay. However he knew it was a subject that upset the detective so he knew it’d be better not to mention it again and go about pretending that morning never happened.

Except he couldn’t forget it. He didn’t have Sherlock’s capacity to delete whatever he felt like deleting. He could try to delete the solar system but it couldn’t be un-known, it just couldn’t! Just as he couldn’t un-know that Sherlock had been tortured in order to save him.

He discarded the cup once finished and went to his room to get some rest.

John had just finished putting on his pajama bottoms when he heard a scream. His blood went cold when he realized who it was from and run downstairs towards the source of the noise, Sherlock. John looked around to an empty flat and realized that the detective had been in his room the whole time. He tried the door and found in unlocked.

The room was dark but he could hear Sherlock panting, grunting and tossing around in his bead. Only then did John understand what was actually happening. It took a couple of minutes before John’s eyes adjusted to dark, he sat on the empty side of the bed feeling the mattress dip with his weight.

“Sherlock, can you hear me?” he called.

The panting increased and the detective’s face contorted in what appeared to be pain in answer.

“Sherlock… You need to calm down it’s just a dream,” John put his hand on the detective’s shoulder and shook him gently. “Wake up Sherlock!”

With a jolt Sherlock sat up still painting, his pale eyes wide and frightened.

“J-john?” he blinked.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m right here,” the doctor reassured.

John was taken aback when Sherlock suddenly cupped his face with both his hands. His chest was raising and falling quickly, his breaths were still erratic and his body was covered in sweat. He didn’t move he just stood there cupping John’s face with his hands.

“You’re real…” he finally said.

“I am,” John replied with a sad smile and placing his hands on top of Sherlock’s.

“I’m in London… I’m back to Baker Street…”

“Yes, yes you are.” John removed the detective’s hand from his face but didn’t let go of them. He gave them a reassuring squeeze. “It was just a dream Sherlock, a bad one but still a dream.”

The detective laid down again his eyes still fixed on John.

“It felt so real,” Sherlock replied his voice shaking. Never had John seen his best friend looking so broken. “I could feel the scythe ripping through my mus-”

“It was a nightmare Sherlock,” John interrupted not ready to have a graphic image of Sherlock’s torture. “It wasn’t real, it was just your mind playing a trick on you.”

He knew what those nightmares felt like. He had had his fair share of them when he got back to Afghanistan and when he believed Sherlock had committed suicide. He knew how real those could feel, how the pain could be as bad as the one he had felt when he was actually shot.

Sherlock scoffed albeit still looking shaken and paler than usual. John could help but to feel a bit relief as his usual self surfaced.

“This is a hateful situation,” he said. “I can’t believe that after spending so many years of honing my psyche I wasn’t able to prevent these repercussions.”

“Contrary to your beliefs you’re human…Even with a honed psyche everybody has breaking point,” Sherlock prepared to argue but John raised his hand to make him stop. “Don’t. Don’t even begin on how only ordinary people with untrained brains have breaking points because everyone has one. Even you and Mycroft have, yours just takes longer to reach. This last two years, however, have put you through too much stress and you reached your limit. Probably even crossed it several times while trying to save us.”

“I thought I could avoid them…” he replied bitterly.

“You’ll get through it. I’ve been in your shoes so I know it’s possible. Just… Don’t expect it to happen overnight, it will take its time,” John told him.

Sherlock frowned but nodded not arguing further.

“You should try to get some rest now,” John advised as he got up to leave.

Sherlock caught his hands before he could move away anchoring him to the bed.

“Will you stay here with me, please? I… I’m afraid I’ll have another nightmare and you won’t be here to wake me up,” he asked.

“Of course,” he smiled and laid beside the detective. “Of course I’ll stay.”

The consulting detective smiled faintly before turning to his side with his back facing John and pressing himself against the doctor’s sternum. John felt his cheeks grow hotter but didn’t say anything, instead he just put his arm around Sherlock’s chest and kept him close.

Sherlock’s breathing eventually evened out meaning he had finally managed to fall asleep. John sighed and combed a few sweaty curls away from the detective’s forehead. The room was now completely silent apart from Sherlock’s even breathing.

His eyes fell down to Sherlock’s marred back. He could see the pink layered scars dimly lit by the moonlight coming through the window. John couldn’t help himself and began tracing the scars with his fingertips, his touch was light though as he was afraid he would hurt Sherlock and wake him.

_I did it for **you**!_

John’s heart ached as he remembered the detective’s words and his eyes started to sting from the tears he was refusing to shed. He felt frustrated, he wished he could have been there for him, to save him… Even though he knew he couldn’t.

“I’m really sorry you had to go through it all alone…” he whispered as he pulled Sherlock closer and pressed his lips against a particular nasty scar between his shoulder blades, the events of the day flashing behind his closed eyelids.

“You can’t imagine how happy I am to have you back Sherlock…” he proceeded. “I swear I’ll help you in any way I can as you helped me.”

John kissed another scar on Sherlock’s shoulder fondly.

“Thank you for saving me yet again,” John finished and pressed his forehead against the Sherlock’s shoulder he had just kissed and hugging him closer to his chest.

“I’m really happy to have you back too John…” returned a groggy voice and John flushed red. “Now get some rest, the flu outbreak surely tired you.”

John couldn’t help the smile that made its way to his lips and closed his eyes falling into a dreamless sleep as did Sherlock.

 


End file.
